


The Eyrie [Hiatus until I finish another work]

by TheIntellectualWeeb



Category: Naruto
Genre: ANBU - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Soulmate AU, i just need a wholesome uchiha clan, itachi and shisui are soulmates, reader doesn't have one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-07-10 05:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19900471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIntellectualWeeb/pseuds/TheIntellectualWeeb
Summary: Naruto gen-fic. The most fearsome bird of prey is not the Eagle or Hawk you see in the sky; it's the nocturnal Owl you don't.





	1. A/N

OKAY I HAVE NO SELF RESTRAINT

SO HERE WE GO

This is going to be a canon divergence gen-fic set around/after the Third Shinobi War. There are hints of pairings if you squint, but nothing official because it's left up to the reader. I _do_ have a sequel planned already (that _will_ have a pairing), but this first part is stand-alone; so if a reader likes the hinted pairing(s), then they can drop the story after the first part and leave the ending as-is.

ALSO, because I'm weak for them, this will also be a Soulmate AU (not for the reader though).

This is going to be pretty angsty, but wrap up nicely (and I hope happily) by the end.

The reader is an Uchiha, so I'm sorry to say you already have a set appearance other than hairstyle.

And because I like my MCs strong, by the end of the story you will be _very_ strong.

This story will be updated as I get inspiration.


	2. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ENTER: OWLETTE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for childbirth? It's not graphic.

The young black-haired woman’s head fell back onto the pillow. She heaved for breath, trying to catch it before the next contraction hit. When it did, she grit her teeth, groaning as all of her strength went to pushing.

“Remember to breathe,” the nurse holding her right hand wiped the sweat from her brow with a cold, damp cloth.

Had the woman heard the nurse over her own pain, she would have griped that this was her first, so she was allowed to make mistakes. Instead, she gripped the hand harder, a yelp leaving her as a wave of pain washed through her again.

The doctor between her legs made soothing noises in the back of her throat in an attempt to calm her. “Now, Mikoto-sama. You have to push again,” she gently directed.

Mikoto tiredly ran a hand down her swollen abdomen, whispering to the child inside of her that she was ready to meet. She breathed deeply, gritting her teeth again as she pushed with the last bit of her strength. Searing pain ripped through her body once again and she loosed a yell.

The woman’s mind was hazy from the pain and lack of oxygen, her head lolling back onto the pillows. The small sound of a cry caught her attention and her head shot upright, looking for her new child. Her tired eyes glanced around the busy nurses, sighting the doctor herself ducking out the door with a little bundle of bloody grey blankets in their arms.

“Hey!” Mikoto yelled, trying to gain their attention. When the doctor didn’t return, she kicked at the nurse cleaning up the afterbirth and tried to scramble after the doctor.

“Mikoto-sama! Calm down, he’s needs to be cleaned!” Several nurses wrestled the screaming woman back onto the bed. For several seconds, the delirious woman fought and screamed until a man she recognized paced through the same door the doctor had left through.

“Fugaku!” The woman gasped in relief, “Fugaku, the doctor! Did you see the doctor out there!? She-!”

“Mikoto, my love, you need to calm yourself.”

“Fugaku, she took my baby!”

Fugaku looked sadly at his distressed wife, gently sitting on the edge of her bed. He gingerly cupped her cheek. “I’m sorry, Mikoto. Our child didn’t make it. Stillborn.”

 _Stillborn._ The word echoed through Mikoto’s body, making her feel hollow as her heart clenched more painfully than the earlier childbirth. She sucked in a breath that rattled her ribs, unaware of the tears spilling down her cheeks. Fugaku pulled her into a hug and Mikoto shook her head, still in a bereft shock at the news. “N-no,” she croaked, “I heard him.” Her voice cracked.

“No, Mikoto, you _thought_ you heard him.”

“I swear I did,” the woman quietly sobbed, her breath shaky. “I heard him cry.”

Fugaku squeezed his wife tighter, feeling as if she was shattering in his arms as she wailed out for her deceased child. He hoped he was making the right decision.

* * *

A few rooms over, in an unused office, the doctor hushed the tiny newborn as she gently settled it onto the chair. Quickly stripping herself of her doctor garb, she strapped on a set of grey armor, a pouch, a sheathed tanto, and a red and white mask that she pulled out from a box in the corner.

She swiftly turned back to the whimpering child, tucking him gently into the crook of her elbow and shoving open the window. She flickered out of sight.

* * *

Four years later, Mikoto found herself heavily pregnant again as she walked through the town. She absentmindedly ran a hand down her swollen abdomen as she picked through the produce in the market stall, her husband next to her, one hand on her lower back as his other held a bag of ingredients for their dinner. Fugaku lightly smiled at the sound of his wife’s laughter as she bargained with the stall owner for a discount.

Across the street, unnoticed by the happy couple, a little black-haired boy in a too-big, red and white owl-shaped mask leisurely followed after the Warhawk as they made their way back towards the nest.


	3. Enter: Owlette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skimmed backstory and setting.

He was your entire world; you had never been your own, and you didn't know the difference. You wanted for nothing, nothing except the Warhawk's praise. It was painful if he was not praising you; pain of the mind manifested by way of your silence, pain of the body was shown through the scars on the backs of your calves and arms, pain of the heart awakened in your sharp, swirling red eyes. You learned early that you didn't like pain in any of those forms. And so, you strived to always earn his praise; you _craved_ it.

By the age of nine, you were the Warhawk's most skilled, most trusted, most loyal blade. And in return, he trained you, sharpened you further, until you were a physically unassuming weapon that felled more enemies than any other disciple. His most treasured and dependable blade. He merely had to point you in the direction, and you did the rest with an ease that sent shivers of fear through the fresh meat. You were his prize. His little Owlette.

By twelve, you were leading your own squad through the war. All of you sharp, all of them following your brusque commands without hesitation. Tanuki, Bear, Fox, and Eagle. Good shinobi. Loyal shinobi. But off the clock, they liked to banter. Noisy, all of them except Bear, you deemed. But the worst was Tanuki. He brought you nothing but confusion and frustration. He once asked you what your name was. You told him Owl. Under the Warhawk, you all knew how to address each other. Your masks were like tags to differentiate.

“No, your real name, kid. Not that one. Who are you when you take off your mask?” He insisted.

You had been confused. _Name?_ Names were specific titles bestowed on people or animals, for the specific reason of addressing them. You were addressed as Owl, mask or not. A handful of times you had been referred to as Captain. Were you supposed to be called something else? The Warhawk had bestowed the name ‘Owl’ on you when you earned your mask at the age of five.

Tanuki didn’t ask again.

By the age of fifteen, you were second in command. Always shadowing, always protecting. The Warhawk kept you close, sent you out only when necessary. You always earned his praise now. And you were content. Though, you _did_ wonder why you didn’t leave the burrow often anymore. And when you did, the Warhawk picked your squad. For years, the same four people always accompanied you.

You found out one night after you had turned sixteen. You were tired, having just returned from an assignment to the Land of Mist. Your squad had been on high alert and on their feet for over a week. You had lost Eagle. You could remember it vividly, the shearing and crunching as the oversized sword ripped through her body, the blood splattering you, the burning pain in your chest, and the pulse that ripped through your eyes. Your eyes burned from how long you had used them, your vision beginning to blur in and out despite you keeping them in their red form. You always had them active. The Warhawk told you to, said it was safer. You ignored the glances of your concerned squad when you removed your mask and armor in the locker room. The inside of your mask was smeared with blood, some still wet and some dry and flakey. All yours.

Instead, you made your way over to the sink in the corner, getting a good look at yourself in the mirror. You were rather grisly looking, Eagle’s blood splattered across your armor, grimy skin, greasy hair, and partially-dried blood oozing around your eyes and in the creases around them. After your assessment, you took to scrubbing your face and body down with a coarse rag; it wouldn’t do to present your report to the Warhawk when you looked like shit. He might scold you.

The door creaked open behind you, another squad piling into the room, ribbing each other over their mission. Apparently, theirs had been a resounding success: no casualties and they completed it three days early.

When you were done, you made your way back to your locker and began to dress yourself. You heard one of the other squad’s members whisper something like ‘sharingan,’ but ignored it. Until a hand clamped down on your freshly clothed shoulder.

“Hey, look at me again.”

You peeked at the hand on your shoulder, face blank. You barely managed to conceal your disdain for being touched. Your swirling red eyes trailed up the armored limb, making contact with a shocked set of swirling red eyes. A mirror to your own.

Curious, you faced the other shinobi. He was around your age or perhaps a year younger, and similar height, had a mop of curly dark hair, long black eyelashes, and well… looked like you. Not _exactly_ like you, but more than any other person you had seen.

Standing next to him was a boy around the age of eleven. This boy looked even more like you. Uncannily so, but he was built far more petite than you. Perhaps he would grow a bigger frame over time?

Your eyes flicked back to the older ANBU in front of you, waiting for him to make his move.

“What’s your name?” He seemed confused.

“Owl.”

“No, I mean the name your parents gave you.”

“Owl.” Was the Warhawk a parent? You weren’t entirely sure what qualified as a ‘parent.’ What purpose did parents serve, besides teaching?

“Who are your parents?”

“Warhawk.”

He seemed to get frustrated with your answer, his grip on your shoulder tightening. Thankfully Tanuki seemed to notice the tension in the room.

“Settle down, Uchiha.” Tanuki spoke as he pushed himself between the two of you, knocking the Uchiha’s hand from your shoulder. “You won’t get anything more than that out of him; I’ve been trying for years.”

“Years?” The 'Uchiha' seemed shocked at how long your team had been together.

You were going to be late if you dawdled any longer. Ignoring their conversation further, you packed your things back into your locker and exited the room to report. You needed to inform the Warhawk of the successful mission, the casualty, and the change in your eyes. You were unaware of curious little onyx eyes following your form.

* * *

Itachi was quiet upon returning to his home, giving his little brother no more acknowledgement than a ruffle of his hair before locking himself in his room. He and Shisui were supposed to be the only plants into the ANBU. So who _were_ you? Most certainly an Uchiha, but you had apparently been in service to the Warhawk for years. Was his father lying about only having two in the ANBU? Did he already send a spy to feed information back to plan the coup? If so, where else had he planted seeds to spy on Konoha?

Itachi’s mind was full of confusion and turmoil even several hours later when he found himself at the table for dinner.

“Ita, where is your head today?” His mother, ever the caring one, asked, “Was your trip rough?”

He had to know. He needed answers. “Who is he, Chichi-ue?” he ignored his mother’s concern.

His father finished sipping his tea before leveling Itachi with a stare. “Who is who?”

“The other Uchiha in the ANBU? In Root? Who is he?” Itachi noticed his mother leave the table to fetch something.

“The only Uchiha in service to Konoha outside of the police force are you and Shisui.”

“No! No, there’s another! He’s around Shisui’s age!”

His father’s stare hardened. “Watch your tone, boy.”

Itachi immediately lowered his tone to something more respectful, tucking his chin. “Forgive me, Chichi-ue. But there’s another Uchiha in service to the Warhawk. He has his sharingan and his team says he’s been in service for years. Longer than any of the others.” His father's growl made him want to give up his questions. But he _couldn't._

His father seemed to be thinking, his eyes as calculating as ever. Something shattered in the doorway and Itachi jumped up, his reflexes screaming that there was an intruder. Only, it was his mother and she looked like she’d seen a ghost.

Her wide eyes made their way to his father. “It’s him, Fugaku,” she whispered her voice cracking.

Fugaku slowly stood up, eyeing his wife carefully. “Mikoto, you know that’s not possible.”

Mikoto snapped, nearly hysterical. “It is! I told you I heard him! They stole my baby!” She was gasping for breath in her panic, Fugaku jumping forward to help her as be barked to Itachi to take Sasuke to his room.

Itachi did just that, pulling his complaining brother into his room and shutting the door behind them. He could her his mother’s distraught sobbing faintly through the halls and he ignored his little brother’s questions. How could he answer them when even _he_ had no idea what was going on?

Did Itachi and Sasuke have an older brother? If so, why hadn't he met you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -cries in exhausted student-

**Author's Note:**

> "A serious [disciple] is not to be confounded with a solemn [disciple]. A serious [disciple] may be a hawk or a buzzard or even a popinjay, but a solemn [disciple] is always a bloody owl." -Ernest Hemingway [edited]


End file.
